


Our Demons, Hidden

by orphan_account



Series: Our Demons and Dark Sides [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Elf Jaskier, Hurt/Comfort, Incubus Jaskier, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:06:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22527544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Of all the ways he could have found out about Jaskier's incubus heritage, Geralt never thought it would happen like this.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Our Demons and Dark Sides [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1620838
Comments: 51
Kudos: 324





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All it took was someone sending me one small headcanon and the end result is me deciding to make an entire verse out of it.
> 
> I cut this chapter short because I wanted to get it out. It was taking too long to write, so hopefully I'll get my energy back to write if the response for this is good. :)

Of all the ways he could have found out about Jaskier's incubus heritage, Geralt never thought it would happen like this.

* * *

Never let it be said that Geralt wasn't considerate to some degree; he could see that Jaskier was suffering. The spring in his step and the colour from his cheeks had long since gone. It was not a hot day yet his hair clung to his sweaty forehead. Therefore, Geralt swung off the saddle and hoisted Jaskier up into it.

"G-Geralt? What are you -"

"Stay there."

The nearest village was three hours away at his rough estimation, and he'd rather not have Jaskier breaking his ankles by continuing to stumble his way down the dirt road as if he had no idea how to hold his own weight up properly.

After rummaging quickly through the saddlebags, Geralt produced the only apple they had left, thrusting it into Jaskier's hands. "Eat."

"I'm fine," Jaskier protested, biting into the apple anyway. "No need to worry about me."

"I've seen headless chickens with more grace than you right now. Eat the damn apple. You better not get sick on me."

The squawking Geralt expected from that statement never came, which was even more worrying.

"Human illnesses don't affect me."

Jaskier was half-elf, though his ears held only a slight pointed curve, his features slightly longer, eyes sharper, to give away his heritage. Everything else about him appeared strictly human which allowed for him to walk through towns and cities without fearing for a lynch mob. He got the majority of his looks from his human side, but his stamina, singing voice, and immunity from his elf side.

"Hmm."

"Where are we going anyway?"

"Next town. Might have work."

They were critically low on coin - enough to secure one room at an inn for only a night, perhaps a meal they would have to share. 

"I can - I can sing, if they have a tavern. We might get more money that way?"

"Hmm."

"I'll take that as a yes."

"Hmm."

Jaskier huffed in amusement, biting into the apple. They travelled the rest of the way in silence.

* * *

The town’s noticeboard was choc full of little requests from borrowing a wheelbarrow, selling crockery, and offering services for coin. Nothing, however, asking for the services of a witcher. For as far as the town was from the main highway, pressed deep into the woods, they were apparently quite safe from potential predators.

Just their fucking luck.

“Maybe you should ask the alderman just in case,” suggested Jaskier.

“Hmm.” It was a good idea. Perhaps he had come too early for a notice to be put out. Didn’t happen often. “You coming?”

Jaskier, still looking peaky, pulled at the collar of his doublet with a nervous laugh. “Not right now, Geralt. I have—I gotta—” He cleared his throat and said in a more controlled voice, “There’s something else I’ve gotta take care of. Meet you back here in an hour?”

Noting the way that Jaskier shifted in place like he had ants in his pants, Geralt could only assume his business was of the sexual variety. It _had_ been a while. There was only so much wanking one could do before they got sick of their right hands.

That, however, did not explain why Jaskier looked ready to blow away in a light breeze. Yet he didn’t think they had the kind of—of friendship where they could talk to each other about their problems, so he left it be. Jaskier would speak if he wanted to speak; he had no qualms there.

“Sure,” Geralt said. “Don’t get into any trouble.”

“Who? Me?” Jaskier grinned teasingly. “I would never.”

Geralt rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “I’m sure.”

They split ways there at the noticeboard. Geralt went in search of someone good-natured enough to tell him where the alderman lived, and Jaskier turned in search of the brothel. It had been years since they had come through this way last but it was unlikely to have closed in that time.

He had the curious and unpleasant sensation roiling around in his gut that it was a mistake to separate from Jaskier, that they were on the cusp of something unexplainable changing, yet he ignored it. He had a job to find and coin to earn – nothing else right now was more important than that.

* * *

The alderman lived on the outskirts of town near the forest, his ramshackle house ready to blow over in a storm at any moment. Geralt politely declined the offer of tea and sat down on the offered rickety stool with some nervousness, especially when the wood creaked threateningly under his weight. There were cups on the floor catching rainwater that leaked from the holes in the roof. He didn’t want to find out the condition of the rest of the cups if this was how they were regularly used.

“A job for ye?” asked the alderman, a snaggle-toothed man by the name of Harold, dragging another stool out to sit near the warmth of his crackling fire in the grate. “Oh nay, we haven’t go’ anythin’ ‘round here that’d be interestin’ to a witcher. Been quiet as o’ late. Shoulda come a few weeks back, aye, but another witcher drove off the wyvern trouble we had.”

Geralt tried to curb his disappointment. “Right…”

They would be relying on Jaskier’s bardic talents once again to secure a room and food, it seemed. Geralt was starting to get that itch under his skin, not unlike ants crawling over him, from too many days without a hunt. One of the many, many side-effects of his mutations was the instinctual drive to hunt. He grew restless and tetchy (to quote Jaskier) if he went to long, and was a general misery to be around (again, Jaskier’s words.)

“How far would you say the next town is?”

“Oh…” Harold scrunched up his face in thought, scratching his balding head. “Ah, about six days from ‘ere, if I’m ‘membering correctly. We’s a little out o’ the way, you see.”

“Fuck,” Geralt muttered under his breath. He was about to ask whether or not the alderman would be willing to pay for any monster he happened to hunt down within an hour of the town in any direction when he heard footsteps thundering toward them, a man’s heavy, desperate breathing as loud as the clash of steel. He stood up, fingers twitching for his sword he didn’t dare draw. “Someone’s coming.”

A young man around twenty years of age slammed his way through Harold’s front door as if there were wyverns on his tail. “Alderman, sir! Alderman, sir! Come quick—we’ve caught a beast in the town—nay, a _demon_! Almost killed Lucy, he did, come quick!” The man, gesticulating wildly, caught sight of Geralt and breathed a sigh of relief. “Aye, come witcher, we need your help killing it!”

Harold blinked in stupefaction. “Well, Master Witcher, looks like we mays have a job for ye after all.”

Hoping that Jaskier was alright, Geralt followed Harold and the boy out, wondering what kind of ‘demon’ awaited him in the town.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Halfway through this chapter I realise I write Geralt to be more like he is in the books, not the show, so have some slightly more talkative witcher. 
> 
> Thank you for the kind comments on the last chapter!!

Jaskier hadn’t meant to lose control like this.

* * *

It didn’t take him long to attract the attention of one of the whores from The Rosebud, the local brothel. She was a leggy blond with tits so perfect and round surely only the gods could have carved them. At once, he allowed some of his magic to escape him, ramping up his charms, making him out to be the most attractive conquest of the lot.

 _You want me,_ he called out to her. If humans could perceive his magic in a physical sense, they would see black, smoky tendrils reaching out like disembodied arms toward them, cocooning them. The woman shivered in lust as they touched her skin. _Only me. Only I can give you what you want._

Several women turned to look at him, gaping in awe and lust, but he didn’t want them; he wanted this woman. She smirked and sauntered up to plaster herself against his side whispering seductively, “Take me to bed, sweetheart? I’m so _horny_ …”

“What’s your name, sweetheart?”

She giggled into his ear, guiding him away from the main room, pretending not to notice the jealous glares from the other whores in her wake. “Lilian.”

But the second he was inside her, tucked away in a tiny box of a room big enough only for the bed, he knew he had made a grave error; he was too hungry. He had gone too long without a feed. One human couldn’t hope to fill him up. But he couldn’t make himself stop. Her cries of pleasure turned to murmurs of confusion, of panicked shouts, then screams, as Jaskier fed, and fed, and _fed_ , until exhaustion stole her voice and all she could do was lay limp beneath him as he stole her life’s energy. 

It was her silence that drew in the brothel’s guards.

Dragged from the brothel by his hair and thrown out into the muddy streets, he did his best to cover himself with his doublet, the only item of clothing he had managed to snatch as Lilian lay near lifeless on the straw bed. He hadn’t—he hadn’t meant to take that _much_! He was just—he was just so—

The cry went up shortly after about a demon being in their midst, killing one of their own.

“No, no, please! I didn’t mean to hurt her. I’m not a demon! I can explain everything—”

Jaskier screamed as a whip cracked against his back, searing pain shocking its way through his system. He cowered away, hearing the townspeople bearing down from him on all sides. Where was Geralt? They were going to _kill him_.

“Please,” he choked out. “This is all a misunder—” He howled, retracting his hand as the whip, wielded by the furious blacksmith, lashed his arm. Blood spilled into the mud.

The townspeople shouted over each other until their voices seemed to blend into one.

“Check if the girl is still alive,” someone said.

“Kill the cursed thing! What are we waiting for?”

“A _demon_ in our town!”

“Behead it!”

“Cut it open!”

“ _Quick_ before it regains its strength!”

 _I told you, Julian,_ said his mother’s snooty voice in his mind. He could almost see her triumphant face, the grin she wore when Jaskier stepped out of line and proved her right. _I told you what would happen, you little demon, if you ever showed your true colours! This is what_ should _happen to you. Too much like your rotten father, even after all I did to save you._

A hand in his hair wrenched his head back. A metallic glimmer in the sunlight almost blinded him before he felt the cool press of a dagger to his throat.

“Please, no,” he sobbed, “ _please_ —”

“What the fuck is going on here?” Pushing his way through the densely packed crowd is Geralt, eyes ablaze with fury.

“Geralt!” Jaskier gasped, relieved. “Help me—it’s all a misunderstanding—I didn’t mean to do it!”

Geralt frowned down at him, confused. “Hmm?”

“Witcher,” snarled the man with the dagger to Jaskier’s throat, “if you kill it, we’ll reward you handsomely. It’s a devil! Attacked Lilian, he did. Left her for dead.”

“Attacked how? I’ve known the bard for some time. He wouldn’t stand a chance against a fly.” Geralt eyed the man with thinly veiled contempt. “Put that dagger away before you hurt somebody.”

“With all due respect, Witcher, I—”

“That was _not_ a request.”

For a short time, it looked as if the man would hold his ground. When Geralt took a threatening step forward, hand twitching up toward his sword, the man muttered, “Alright, alright!” and stepped back, putting his dagger away. At once, Jaskier darted for Geralt, crawling through the mud, huddling against his leg, shivering as the cold wind bit at his exposed skin.

“I’m sorry, Geralt,” he sobbed. “I’m so sorry—”

“Jaskier,” said Geralt, “tell me your side of the story.”

His words were met with an instant, outraged uproar.

“Demons cannot tell the truth!” a woman shrieked. “You dare—”

“ _Hold your tongue_.” If Jaskier didn’t know better, he would have thought Geralt had hypnotised the entire town as his cold words silenced them all. Not even the chickens, wandering idly throughout, dared to cluck. “Jaskier, speak.”

“I’m—I’m not just an elf—”

“An elf and a demon! A cursed mix!”

“ _SILENCE_.”

“I’m also an incubus—but I try to hide it, honest I do! It’s just—I was so hungry today, I—I took more than I should have, but I tried to stop myself, it was just so _hard_. She’s not dead, I promise, I didn’t kill her! A few days rest and she should be good as new! Check yourselves, she’s _alive_!” Jaskier wrapped an arm around Geralt’s leg, pressing closer, wondering at what point Geralt would throw him off in disgust and run him through. “Please don’t kill me, please, I’m _not_ a _monster_!”

“Like we’d believe you,” another man snarled. “Just another monster trying to save his own skin.”

“I’m not— _I’m not_ —!”

“A demonic elf is just what we need, spreading your disease across the Continent.

All the while, Geralt remained silent.

“Geralt—Geralt, please don’t listen to them, _you know me_. You know who I am! I may have lied about my incubus heritage, but I swear on my own life I’ve not lied to you about anything else! Please don’t let them kill me.”

“I want to see Lilian to confirm Jaskier’s words,” said Geralt. “Bring her to me.”

“Why would ye be wantin’ tha’?”

“Alderman, don’t do as he says. We must kill the beast!”

“Silence, ye silly boy!”

“If the girl is alive, then it’s as Jaskier said, a misunderstanding. Incubi and succubi don’t need to kill to eat. Rarely have I ever met one who has. If the girl is alive, it’s enough to simply banish Jaskier from the town, never to return. And if I discover,” Geralt added ominously, “that the girl has been killed by foul means in order to give you a reason to kill Jaskier, you _will_ regret it. And believe me, no matter how sneaky you think you are, I _will_ be able to tell.”

Jaskier heard a couple people retreat to get the girl. The discontented murmuring of the crowd filled the long, tense minutes until those people returned.

“Here she is—look for yourself! See how pale she is? How cold? The demon fucking killed her!”

“No, she is just unconscious,” said Geralt. Jaskier felt him lean away to inspect the girl, but he dared not look up to see how. “Give her a week, perhaps two, and she will be fully recovered. It was a near thing, but there won’t be any lasting damage, or memory of what occurred. Such is the case with victims of incubi and succubi attacks.”

Attacks. Jaskier felt hollowed out by the word. If Geralt thought he attacked that girl, hurt her on purpose…did that mean Geralt was going to kill him?

Releasing Geralt’s leg, Jaskier curled up on himself, burying his face into his lap to hide a sob. He had tried so hard not to be everything his mother had told him he was. Worked so hard to get his incubus side under control. Only ate when he had to, starved himself for weeks, wished he was a pure-blood elf or even a half-human instead so he would never have to face this kind of misery. He never wanted this, never asked for it. Did the best he could with the shit hand he’d been dealt with.

All for nothing.

 _You little demon,_ his mother said again. The memory of her words hit him like flecks of lava, searing his skin, destroying everything as it sunk in, reducing his world to agony. _Just like your father. I should have given you away when I had the chance—no, aborted you! You were a pain to bring into the world, and a misery to keep. This is the fate you deserve, demon._

“Here.” Geralt unclipped something from his belt and threw it. Only when it was caught and produced several metallic clinks did Jaskier understand it was the pouch filled with twenty coins; the last bit of money they had. “It’s not a lot, but it’s all I have. Give that to the girl as restitution.”

“What about the demon?!”

“ _Jaskier_ ,” Geralt stressed the word pointedly, “comes with me. I will deal with him how I see fit, but I won’t be making a show out of it for you. Now, I will be returning to my horse, with Jaskier, and we shall go _unharmed_. Anyone who seeks retribution will sorely regret it. Am I understood?”

The crowd grumbled but acquiesced.

“Stand, Jaskier,” said Geralt. When Jaskier shakily did so, cheeks bright red with embarrassment at how on display he was, Geralt immediately took off his black travelling cloak and wrapped it around Jaskier’s shoulders, covering him. “Let’s go.”

“Fucking demon…”

“Witcher should’ve killed you on the spot.”

“I’d say rot in hell, but your kind likes it too much.”

“Do us all a favour and kill yourself. The world will be better for it.”

Jaskier hung his head as the vitriol followed him all the way to the town stables. He did his best, but he could not stop himself from crying.

It was all over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if I should add any warnings for this chapter. It's currently midnight as I'm posting this and I'm pretty tired, so I dunno. 
> 
> Come follow me on Tumblr @mystic-majestic.


	3. Chapter 3

The closer they got to the stables, the more Jaskier wondered why Geralt didn’t just pull his sword out and end it, leave Jaskier’s lifeless body in the mud like roadkill, just as he deserved. Did he want to draw the suspense out longer? No, that was not Geralt’s style. He could be vicious to the point of savagery when the situation called for it, but he was never _cruel_.

As soon as they arrived in Roach’s stall, listening to her whickering happily to see them, Geralt began rooting around in her saddlebags. Jaskier hovered just outside. He wouldn’t be welcome near Roach anymore—not that he ever expected to see her again after today.

What did dying feel like? Travelling with Geralt, he had seen his fair share of death. Kind of hard not to, what with how Death trails after Geralt like a lover. Even with all the chaos and destruction they tended to leave behind in their wake, Jaskier had never thought his time would be up so soon. He hoped that for the feelings of friendship Geralt bore Jaskier, for all the memories they had, that he would make it quick.

“Here,” said Geralt, startling Jaskier out of his reverie in time to see him lob a set of clothes at him. “Get changed into those.”

Jaskier looked down. Those were his clothes.

“Hurry up,” Geralt snapped.

 _He probably wants to let me die with dignity_. Jaskier took off the cloak, handed it back, and started to dress, noticing Geralt turn his head away to give him some semblance of privacy. _We were friends, after all. At least my corpse will look less pitiful._

As soon as Jaskier made himself look somewhat presentable, Geralt grabbed the Roach’s bridle and led her out of the stall. The expectation that Jaskier would follow Geralt out was a matter of course. Where else could Jaskier go?

The townspeople were giving the stables a wide berth, though he caught sight of a couple burly men standing a good fifty feet away, puffed up threateningly. Others mingled in close groups, whispering to each other, shooting Jaskier and Geralt furtive, distrustful glances.

“Where are you taking me?” he asked in a low, defeated voice.

Geralt frowned over his shoulder. “We’re leaving town. We stay any longer, they’ll hunt you down no matter what I say.” A shout caught his attention and he levelled a glare at whoever had done it. Jaskier was just grateful he hadn’t been able to understand the abuse from this distance. “Hurry up.”

“You’re not going to kill me?”

“If I wanted you dead, I’d have let the townspeople have you.”

“Geralt—”

Geralt was exasperated. “ _What_?”

“I don’t have any shoes. They’re still at the brothel.”

Pausing, Geralt looked down at Jaskier’s bare feet and clicked his tongue. “Take the bridle.”

“I…okay.”

Rummaging through the saddlebags once again, Geralt pulled out a pair of boots. “They’re my spare pair. We’re about the same size. Wear these.” Pushing them at Jaskier, he didn’t give Jaskier much of a say in the matter—and then, without warning, he hefted Jaskier into Roach’s saddle as if he weighed nothing. “So you don’t step on anything.”

To say that Jaskier was overwhelmed was an understatement. As an incubus, he was classified as one of the monsters a witcher ought to hunt with extreme prejudice. Why was Geralt acting so—so… _kind_? He hugged the boots to his chest, stunned silent.

The set of Geralt’s shoulders for the next few hours deterred him from asking questions. He was in no position to push Geralt for answers, not anymore. He had been thoroughly put in his place and had no desire to step out from it. His lute, which hung in its case from Roach’s saddle, remained where it was. For once, he had no desire for music.

They stopped only once to tend to the injuries that Jaskier had received from the whip, but the wounds had already closed, much to their shock. 

"I've never healed that quickly before."

"Must be because you recently ate," Geralt muttered. "You have enough energy to heal."

Finally, as dusk began to set in, Geralt led them to a small glade in the forest near a gushing stream. They gathered firewood in silence until they, with a little shot of Igni from Geralt, had a roaring campfire. Jaskier sat as close as he could, soaking in the warmth, allowing the last chill of terror to seep from him.

“I’m going to hunt,” said Geralt, tone brooking no argument. “Be back in an hour.”

“I’ll be here,” Jaskier mumbled, waving him off. _Where else could I go?_

In the end, Geralt was only gone half an hour, not enough for the sunlight to have fully disappeared behind distant mountains, but enough to summon the crickets, screaming their song to the pinkening skies. He dragged an adolescent deer behind him by one of its legs, wrenched out of the socket from the looks of it. Choosing a spot near the fire, Geralt began to skin it. All in silence.

Finally, as Geralt put the freshly skinned deer on the spit to cook, Jaskier finally had enough.

“Why aren’t you saying anything?” he demanded. “Why didn’t you kill me back there? It would have been a lot simpler.”

“There is nothing to say. I only kill monsters.”

“What I did back there was pretty damn monstrous, Geralt.”

Geralt snorted, nudging the firewood around with a stick. “Hardly. I’ve seen sex demons do a lot worse to a person than what you did.”

“She could have _died_.”

“If it weren’t for those horns on top of your head right now, at best whoever threw you out would have thought you just fucked the girl out of her mind.” Geralt watched with an amused lilt to his lips as Jaskier’s hand shot up to touch his head. The bones protruded from the top of his forehead and curled back, the pointed tips resting near his ears. “Relax. The girl will be fully recovered in a few days, if not a week. You took it too far, but you did no lasting harm.”

Clenching his hands into fists, willing himself not to give into the tears burning beneath his closed eyelids, Jaskier gritted out, “This is why I don’t like to feed. This is why I try so hard not to.”

“And that, Jaskier, is why this will happen again.” Geralt’s voice took on a stern edge. “Is that why you were so sick this morning? How long did you go without feeding?”

Jaskier remained silent, stony.

“ _Jaskier_.”

“Two months, okay?!”

“I—two months? Are you fucking _stupid_?”

“Listen here, Geralt—”

“No, _you_ listen, you idiot. Sex demons have to feed at least once a goddamn week before they start weakening. You’re telling me this whole time you’ve been on death’s door? And I _brought you along on hunts_?” If Geralt hadn’t been in charge of tending to dinner, Jaskier had no doubt he would have stormed off by now. Jaskier cowered in the face of his ire. “For someone who boasts many accolades from his university education, you sure are a fucking idiot.”

“I never wanted to be an incubus!” Jaskier roared, hurt. “You think I want to live like this? I hate every fucking minute of it—”

“It doesn’t matter what you _want_ , Jaskier! Feeding of sexual energy once a week is what you must do. That’s what keeps you healthy, _alive_.”

“Then maybe you should just run me the fuck through with that sword of yours instead! Because I _hate_ being an incubus! I _hate_ having to feed off people! I _hate_ seeing what I do to them! It’s pure fucking hell—”

“Stop being so melodramatic for once in your goddamn life. I’m not going to kill you. Being an idiot isn’t a criminal offense—though if it was, someone clearly would’ve had you hanged long before you ever met me.”

“Right, way to go, way to try and understand my side of things—”

“How can I understand? You refused to talk about it,” snapped Geralt. “In fact, I was under the assumption you were a human-elf cross until four hours ago, since you chose not to say anything.”

“Why would I want to advertise it?”

“What do you even have against being an incubus?”

The confessions were ready to spill from Jaskier’s lips, but something held him back. A final hurdle he was not ready to jump. “That…that is my business.” His hackles rose as Geralt scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I don’t owe you anything!”

“But you do owe me your health.”

“Excuse me?”

Geralt’s eyes were glittering chips, his countenance firm and unyielding. “I bring you along on hunts because I trust that you’re at a hundred percent. That you’re not going to make yourself a liability to me. You know full well how dangerous this life is. If I have to worry about you starving yourself near to death, to the point where you look like a goddamn corpse, then this is the end of the line, Jaskier. If you can’t look after yourself, then I’ll drop you off at the next town.”

If Geralt had rammed his fist into Jaskier’s stomach, it would have hurt a lot less. “You would…you would _leave me_?”

“For your own sake? Without question.”

In this miserable life of Jaskier’s, Geralt was the only good thing he had. The one person that knew who Jaskier was (for the most part) and kept him around, enjoyed his company, shared his life with him. If he lost Geralt, Jaskier’s life would go back to the empty pit of despair. Music could only do so much. Having people around who cared about him helped ward off the depression, the trauma.

A tear dripped down Jaskier’s cheek. “But you _can’t_.”

“Then start taking care of yourself.”

“But h-how?” Jaskier rubbed his cheeks roughly with the heel of his palms. “Sometimes we don’t see a town or village for weeks. How am I meant to feed and stay healthy if I don’t have anyone around to feed on?”

“The answer should be obvious, shouldn’t it?”

“If it was, Geralt, I wouldn’t have asked.”

“I’m offering to let you feed from me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment if you liked this chapter!!

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed! You can find me on Tumblr @mystic-majestic.


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